


(I know dead people, and you are not dead)

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Castration, Established Relationship, Injury Recovery, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Permanent Injury, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sign Language, nullification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27961079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: When Lambert discovers Aiden is alive, nothing will be the way it was before. But Lambert does not give one single fuck about before, because he has another chance to give Aiden everything good the world has to offer, and nothing that’s been done to Aiden will stand in their way.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 210
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	(I know dead people, and you are not dead)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobbitdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/gifts).



> Title from [ this Franz Wright poem.](https://hewn.tumblr.com/post/37051489694) Thanks to my betas!

There were fewer witchers every year. Lambert would lay down a hundred Novigrad crowns to bet that he could name every one remaining on the Continent. That didn’t mean he gave them much thought. Sometimes he’d go entire seasons without seeing another witcher. So when a cloaked and hooded figure with two sword hilts rising above his back appeared in the inn’s doorway, Lambert sat up and paid attention.

The other witcher spotted Lambert immediately and stalked towards his table. Halfway there he shoved back his hood to reveal a close-shaven head and a slanted scar down the left side of his face. Lambert’s favorite remaining Cat.

Lambert took a swig of his ale as the other witcher stopped beside his table. “Gaetan,” Lambert said evenly. “Been a while.”

“I try to steer clear of Wolves,” Gaeten said. 

“You still scared Geralt’s going to change his mind and come after you?” Lambert leaned back, balancing his chair on the back legs. “It’s been what, a decade?”

“Look, time is of the essence, so will you just...” Gaetan sighed, pulled out the chair across from Lambert, dropped into it, and leaned on the table. ”I need you to come with me.”

“Uh, no.” Lambert tipped his chair back down to the floor and picked up his ale. “I’m comfortable here, thanks. You’re gonna need a better pitch than--”

“We found Aiden,” Gaetan broke in.

Lambert’s stomach dropped, and he felt a painful constricting in his chest around the lump of pain that hadn’t gone away in the past ten years. It didn’t happen much anymore, that someone said Aiden’s name. But the sound of it caused the same jolt of agony that hit him when he saw or heard or smelled something that reminded him of his Cat. Lambert hadn’t expected it now, hadn’t braced himself for it. And here Gaetan was, jabbing right into that weak spot. Lambert forced on a nasty smile and said, “Aiden’s dead, shit-for-brains.”

“He’s alive,” Gaetan said flatly. “I saw him yesterday before I rode out to find your sorry ass.”

“He’s dead.” Lambert’s hand drifted to his dagger. He was going to slit Gaetan’s throat for this--whatever deception this was. How dare he come here with Aiden’s name in his mouth after all this time? Lambert couldn’t let that stand. “He’s been fucking dead for a long time.”

“Obviously not,” Gaetan said. He didn’t seem to be worried that he was well in range of an attack. “Beat all to hell, missing a few parts, and more than half out of his mind, but he’s alive. I left him with two other Cats.”

“No. You’re full of shit.” Lambert couldn’t stab this guy until he figured out why, exactly, he’d come here to lie to him like this. “Why would you tell me, even if you had found him?”

“He doesn’t trust us, and he won’t let us help,” Gaeten said in low tones. “We had to shackle him with dimeritium so he’d quit trying to set us all on fire and run off.”

“Cats are assholes. Maybe he’d be better off if he ran.”

Gaetan’s expression shifted. Lambert didn’t know him well enough to read it, but he almost seemed as if he were hurt. “Not in the state he’s in. You gonna help him or not?”

“Why are you asking me?” Lambert demanded.

“He thinks we're his enemies.” Gaetan stared down at the table. “He won't let us near him. He won't eat or drink anything we give him. He won’t sleep if one of us is in the room. And he's too damn good at resisting Axii.” Gaetan glanced up at Lambert and glared. “Thanks for that by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Lambert said, his smart-ass answer coming without thought. Watching Aiden learn to break Eskel’s Axii had thoroughly entertained them all one winter. But Aiden was dead.

“Lambert.” Gaetan caught Lambert’s gaze and held it. “He is going to die if we can't help him, and then this will have been a giant fucking waste of my time. Aiden loved you enough to tell the rest of the school to piss off and leave him alone. That's more than the rest of us care about any living being on the Continent. So I figured if anyone who's not a Cat has a chance to help, it's you.”

Lambert blinked, trying to process all of that. One thing stuck in his thoughts like a hook. “He loved me?”

“You _are_ a moron.” Gaetan pushed to his feet. “Are you coming or not?”

Gaetan had to be lying. There was no other explanation. But what was Lambert going to do--let Gaetan walk away and never find out what he really wanted?

“I don’t believe you,” Lambert said, just so they were both clear. “But I don’t have anything else on right now, so I’ll go.”

“Thank fuck.” Gaetan let out a big breath and scrubbed his hand over his face.

Seeing that, Lambert felt a twinge of doubt.

While they rode, Gaetan wove Lambert a completely impossible tale: how a Cat witcher named Dragonfly had been in the far south when she heard a rumor of a witcher slave kept by some Nilfgaardian noble, and how this slave had a strange medallion in the shape of a cat’s head. How she’d rallied a handful of her fellow Cats to murder this noble, raze his castle to the ground, and rescue the captive witcher. And how the rescued slave--Aiden, allegedly--has shown them nothing but hostility as they’d travelled north together. 

Lambert scowled through it all. Why the fuck would Gaetan make up a lie this elaborate? Did he think Lambert was some sentimental fool who’d throw caution to the wind as soon as someone mentioned Aiden’s name? Was he just trying to keep Lambert’s attention while he maneuvered him into place for an ambush? Lambert had avenged Aiden, and mourned him, and buried any part of himself that may once have thought warmth or affection or safety could be a part of his life. He wasn’t some lovesick child. So he stayed alert for sneak attacks all the way to the shitty little hunter’s shack in the woods where the Cats had holed up. 

Lambert’s boots crunched on the carpet of dry leaves as he followed Gaetan to the door. There were two other Cats inside: a woman, who must have been Dragonfly, and Axel, who Lambert only vaguely recognized. Lambert stood on the threshold, ready to bolt, but no one picked up their weapons or made any move to attack.

“Finally.” Dragonfly stepped aside to reveal a pathetic figure of a man cowering in the far corner of the room.

The man had long, tangled hair that was so dirty it could have been any color. He wore many layers of clothing against the chilly fall weather, all of which more properly belonged in a rag bag. He sat on the bare stone floor against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. A dimeritium shackle encircled his ankle and was connected to the wall by a chain.

“Be careful. He bites.” Axel held up his arm, which still held the healing outline of teeth marks. 

Lambert drifted closer. He knew he shouldn’t let himself get closed in, or allow the Cats to flank him, but he just needed to see. The man’s face was turned to the side and tucked against his knees. But there was something familiar about his form.

“Aiden.” From her position a healthy ten feet or so away, Dragonfly spoke softly. “We brought someone for you.” 

The man made no response, no sign that he’d heard.

“Aiden. Come on,” Gaetan said. “At least let him see you.” He took a step closer, and the man hissed--a guttural, angry sound, one Lambert had heard only a few times.

“Aiden?” Lambert whispered.

The man’s head snapped up, and he focused immediately on Lambert. One luminous green-yellow eye stared out at Lambert from Aiden’s heavily scarred face. A pale knot of scar tissue was in the spot where his left eye had been, and a thick beard obscured the lower half of his face, but it was him.

“Aiden?” Lambert called.

Aiden gave a short, sharp exhalation of breath, and his eye widened. He moved immediately into a defensive crouch and threw a hand up to reach for Lambert. 

Lambert stumbled forward blindly until his hand reached Aiden’s. Rather than pull him into an embrace, however, Aiden jerked Lambert down onto the floor and shoved him back against the wall. Lambert didn’t resist. If Aiden was going to grab one of Lambert’s weapons and stab him, Lambert would let it happen, because this was Aiden back from the dead and here, and there’d never been anything he wanted as much as he’d wanted this.

But Lambert realized after a moment that Aiden wasn’t attacking him, but only trying to maneuver him into a defensible position. Aiden set himself between Lambert and the rest of the room and bared his teeth at the other Cats, revealing incisors that had been filed down smooth.

“Easy, Aiden,” Gaetan said, raising his hands. “We’re not gonna hurt your Wolf. We brought him here to help you.”

Aiden didn’t relax at all, and pulled his lips back in a silent snarl. 

Lambert called past him to the other Cats, “You wanna back off a bit?”

Gaetan grabbed Axel by the shoulder and steered him out the door without another word. With one last, assessing look at Lambert, Dragonfly followed.

“Hey,” Lambert said when the door was closed and they were alone. He took off his sword harness and slid it away across the floor, out of both of their immediate reach. He curled a hand over Aiden’s shoulder. Beneath all the layers of clothing, he felt thin and bony. “You know who I am?”

Aiden nodded. He half turned so he could see Lambert, but didn’t look him in the eye. Instead he plucked at the front of Lambert’s shirt. His fingernails were dirty and ragged, but Lambert didn’t flinch away as Aiden fished out the wolf’s head medallion. Aiden draped the chain over his hand and stared at it, only stealing a single glance at Lambert’s face. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Lambert said. He remembered how Aiden had liked to play with the Wolf medallion, idly twisting it this way or that as they lay together in bed, or pricking Lambert with the pointy edges and laughing. “It’s me.”

Aiden tucked the medallion back into Lambert’s shirt and patted his chest. He made a long, breathy sound that could have been a whine if there’d been any voice behind it. Then, with frightening speed, Aiden grabbed Lambert by the collar and threw him down on his back. Lambert had to fight back the instinct to defend himself as Aiden swung a leg over him, straddling his waist. 

Keeping his grip on Lambert’s shirt, Aiden leaned down to press his nose into Lambert’s neck and breathe in. All at once, Lambert was aware that he smelled of sweat and road dust, the sour ale and onion smell of the tavern Gaetan had found him in, and a bit like the harpy blood he hadn’t washed out of his clothes since his previous contract. If he’d known Aiden was going to smell him, he’d have taken a bath. Well fuck, if he’d known Aiden was alive, there’s a lot he would have done.

Aiden sniffed at Lambert urgently, burying his face against his skin. Lambert slowly brought up his hand to stroke down Aiden’s back. He breathed in the smell of Aiden: unwashed body, blood and pain, and the residual acrid scent of panic, but under it, the smell of Aiden himself, unmistakable after all these years. He was no ghost or illusion; this really was Aiden. 

Lambert curled his arms around Aiden and squeezed. Slowly, as if expecting to be rebuffed, Aiden wrapped his arms around Lambert’s shoulders to return the embrace.

“It’s me. I’m here,” Lambert said as Aiden shook soundlessly. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you. Never again.”  
\--

_Four months later_

Lambert was awoken in the dark hours of the morning by a raspy sound and the thrashing next to him in bed. He snapped awake instantly, as he'd been doing so often lately. Aiden was struggling against the blankets covering them, hoarsely gasping out what would have been a scream if his captors had left him capable of such a sound.

“Aiden,” Lambert said gently. “Aiden, it's a dream.” When Aiden still didn't wake, Lambert resigned himself to the consequences, and reached out to grasp Aiden's shoulder.

Sure enough, Aiden woke as soon as Lambert touched him, and immediately threw a punch. Lambert, knowing what to expect, was able to deflect the blow from his face, but it was a near thing. Whatever other problems Aiden faced, he had not lost any of his speed. With the advantage of being more awake, Lambert managed to dodge two more blows before Aiden squinted at him, and a thread of recognition came into his face.

Aiden scrambled back, tumbling off the side of the bed, then rolling and coming up in a defensive crouch, watching Lambert warily. They had gone to bed naked, both of them sleepy and unwilling to leave the warmth of their bed for anything so insignificant as clothing. That meant Lambert could clearly see the rapid, panicked breath rising and falling in Aiden's chest.

“It's me,” Lambert said quietly. He knew better than to make any move towards Aiden. Instead he knelt where he was on the bed, and raised both his hands to show he was no threat. “It's just me. We’re at home. No one here is going to hurt you.”

Aiden’s mouth formed Lambert's name, but of course no intelligible sound came out. Aiden frowned and tried once more. When there was only that raspy whisper again, his hand went to his throat, feeling along the jagged scar there. 

Lambert's stomach twisted. He hated this kind of night, these moments that felt like a drop from a great height, when Aiden realized all over again what had been done to him. Lambert lowered his hands and clenched his fists at his sides, willing Aiden to remember faster, get it over with so he wouldn’t suffer and so Lambert didn’t have to witness this again.

After releasing his throat, Aiden held his hands out in front of him, looking at the crookedly healed fingers of his right hand, too stiff to wield a sword or form Signs. The panicked breathing had accelerated, and Aiden’s face, drained of blood, glowed eerily pale in the moonlight slanting through their cabin's small window. He raised his hands to feel at his face, at the healed-over place his left eye had been.

“Aiden,” Lambert said again, a little louder.

Aiden ignored him as if he hadn't spoken. He was continuing the exploration of his body, and reaching a hand between his legs to touch the thin scar that was the only thing left. He traced it down, finding the small hole there, and further back, as if to confirm there really was nothing. He stared, frozen.

“Aiden,” Lambert said, and now he moved. Slowly, telegraphing every motion, he slid out of bed and onto his knees before Aiden, who was still looking down, repeating the choked noises that were all he could produce.

“Aiden, hey. I'm here. You're safe.” Lambert made the sign for safe, left-handed, and held it up to show Aiden. 

Aiden squinted at it, and then the blank terror on his face melted into uncertainty. He raised his own hand and made the same sign. He'd been coming up with them at a faster rate the past few weeks, but this was one they'd created early on.

“You're safe,” Lambert said again. “I'm here.” 

Aiden nodded jerkily, and then he reached out to drag Lambert into his lap. Lambert held on as Aiden shook against him, that eerie, silent crying where his whole body trembled, but the only sound was short, raspy breaths. Lambert made soothing noises, and petted his hand through Aiden's hair. 

Aiden had chopped most of it off with a dagger a few days ago, and had looked sheepish when Lambert laughed at the uneven results. At least he'd let Lambert tidy it up, and now his hair was a fairly uniform crown of short curls. It felt strange not to have more hair to play with, but if looking different made Aiden feel more like he was not the person who had been in captivity for so long, Lambert wasn't going to object.

After several minutes, Aiden lifted his head, sniffling a little, and signed, “Fine now.”

“Fucking fine,” Lambert scoffed. “You don't have to be fine. I'm not fine, and I don't have half the excuse.”

“Pot kettle,” Aiden signed, with a weary smile. “Cold,” he signed. “Bed.”

“Yeah, all right,” Lambert said. He reached out, and Aiden let Lambert grab him under the arms and help him stand, for which Lambert was grateful. Aiden probably could have gotten up off the floor on his own. It had been weeks since one of these unpleasant dreams had resulted in the kind of debilitating terror that left Aiden totally catatonic and unable to move. Still, Lambert would take any excuse to get his arms around Aiden and feel the solid warmth, the realness of him.

They arranged themselves back under the covers, Aiden wrapped around Lambert and snug up against his back. He was exhausted enough to start drifting off right away, though Lambert stayed awake much longer, seeing again and again the panic in Aidan's eyes as he realized what had been done to him. Lambert would give anything in the world, his life, everyone's fucking life, to have been there to stop it, so that Aiden wouldn't be living this horror over and over.

But fairytale magic like that wasn't real. So all Lambert had was what he could do now. And he would give Aiden everything. Everything that he deserved, every comfort that Lambert could make, buy, or steal. And hope that someday the wall of good things they built together would keep at least some of the bad things at bay.  
\--

_Four years later_

Lambert tromped back into view of their cabin carrying a deer over his shoulder and found Aiden in the yard building up a fire in the pit they used for roasting large game. In the afternoon heat of late July, he’d taken his shirt off to do so, and Lambert took a moment to admire the sight of Aiden with some meat on his bones.

“You that confident I was going to come back with something?” Lambert called.

Aiden looked up from his task and signed with his left hand, “Strong-handsome witcher. My good provider.”

Lambert snorted. “Right. Like you’ve ever come back from a hunt empty-handed.”

“I’m also strong-handsome witcher,” Aiden informed him with a serious look and a series of signs. “Deer fall into my arms.”

“Yeah, not just deer,” Lambert said with a fond smile.

Aiden grinned up at him, then couldn’t say anything else, because he had to switch the stick he’d been using to stoke the fire to his left hand, since the right was shaking too badly. That meant he’d probably been pushing himself hard again, demanding more from his formerly dominant hand than it could give, but Lambert didn’t comment. Aiden was perfectly capable of knowing his limits and making his own decisions. That didn’t mean Lambert wouldn’t worry.

Lambert strung up the deer and prepared it efficiently, with an eye on the sun creeping towards the horizon. The days were still long, but at this elevation the nights did get chilly. He didn’t want Aiden out here when the temperature really dropped; his cough came back when he stayed out in weather like that. Of course the stubborn ass would say that it was the middle of the summer, he’d be fine. But Lambert wasn’t above some underhanded distraction.

As soon as the deer was dressed and skinned, Lambert brought the carcass over and shoved it onto the spit Aiden held. Aiden rubbed it with the salt and herb mix he’d made while Lambert carried over a generous supply of firewood. Then together they hooked the spit to the water wheel Aiden had rigged up in the creek, and the carcass turned over on its spit, easy as anything. 

Lambert watched Aiden watching it for a moment, appreciating Aiden’s smug delight at his system doing what it was meant to. Lambert could have looked forever, but in truth he wanted to do more than look. 

After another quick glance at the sun, Lambert said, “We don’t have to stand here and tend this the whole time. Let’s clean up inside.”

“Mother hen, mother hen,” Aiden signed impatiently, his sign for chicken repeating up by his chin where the sign for “parent” went.

“Damn straight,” Lambert said unrepentantly. “We can keep an eye on the fire. And one of us could get out here quick enough if a wolf drops by.”

“I would, I,” Aiden signed.

“You calling me slow?”

“Never,” Aiden signed, grinning.

“We’ve got time while that cooks. Why don’t I see how fast I can make you come, then see if you think I’m slow.” Lambert chased Aiden towards the cabin with hands still dirty and bloody from the deer, but Aiden dodged and tripped him in retaliation. 

Despite the roughhousing, they got cleaned up and found themselves naked and tangled together on the bed in very little time. Aiden pushed Lambert onto his back to straddle him, and Lambert didn’t even pretend to resist. He was right where we wanted to be. 

Aiden rocked his smooth pelvis against Lambert’s belly as they kissed, stimulating all the nerves still beneath the surface. Lambert smirked as Aiden’s expression went glassy and he began letting out breathy little sighs. Lambert enjoyed anything that brought Aiden pleasure, but this--seeing Aiden take exactly what he needed--was especially arousing. 

“Fucking hot,” Lambert signed, because he couldn’t bear to break their kiss.

Aiden huffed out a rhythmic series of breaths--laughing--and signed, “Yes, you are. Stay.” He shoved Lambert’s hands above his head to grab the headboard, then turned away in full confidence that Lambert would comply. Because of course Lambert would. Whatever Aiden had planned--fucking Lambert with that cleverly carved phallus strapped between his legs, or riding Lambert's cock until he'd taken his fill, or simply teasing Lambert with his fingers all night--Lambert was certain to enjoy.

Lambert watched with wide, staring eyes as Aiden shuffled down the bed and shoved Lambert’s legs apart to kneel between them. He trailed his fingers up and down the soft skin of Lambert’s thighs, while his other hand scratched gently at the hair on Lambert’s belly. Lambert had been well on his way to hard before, but the torturous pleasure of Aiden touching him everywhere except the place he fucking wanted him to had him squirming against the mattress.

By the time Aiden traced a single finger up the thick vein on the underside of Lambert’s cock, it was almost too much. Lambert let out a startled yelp and called, “Aiden!” as he found himself suddenly careening towards climax. 

Aiden immediately drew his hands away. He gave Lambert a sharp look and held up a finger pointedly: wait. 

With a whine and a nod, Lambert squeezed his eyes shut and thought of fighting hideous monsters in the sewers, and he did not come.

A smile graced Aiden’s lips when Lambert opened his eyes, which Lambert considered a fair return for his efforts. He slumped back against the pillows, feeling as if he’d just escaped the swipe of a griffin’s claws. But he hadn’t won the fight yet--the next time Aiden touched Lambert, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back, unless he _calmed down._

Mercifully, Aiden sat back, teasing his fingers over the smooth skin between his legs while he watched Lambert try to keep himself under control. It certainly wasn’t easy, with Aiden right there and wearing nothing but his medallion. The pattern of scars on his body was familiar, having remained unchanged for years now. There was a soft layer of fat over Aiden’s ribs, and a little thickness in the middle that always made Lambert want to bury his face there. In fact, there wasn’t any part of Aiden that Lambert didn’t want to bury his face in, and--fuck, this wasn’t helping Lambert cool down at all.

He turned his attention to the ceiling, took deep breaths, and tried to work himself into a meditative state. After a few minutes he managed to get his breathing and heart rate closer to normal, but his efforts shattered completely when Aiden’s mouth closed over Lambert’s cock. 

Lambert whined, deep in his throat, and slid a hand into Aiden’s hair to ground himself, concentrating on the texture under his fingers instead of what Aiden was doing with his tongue. It took tremendous effort not to let his hips fuck up into Aiden’s mouth. That was all the strategy Lambert had room for, because the rest of his brains were currently being sucked out through his cock. 

“Aiden, Aiden!” Lambert said urgently, as he felt his climax building again. 

Aiden backed off only barely, keeping a hand around Lambert’s dick to pump lazily while he watched Lambert try to get himself under control. 

At the sound of a pained hiss, Lambert looked up, impending orgasm forgotten as he scanned for danger. Aiden, grimacing, rubbed his left knee. The old pain there had never really gone away, but sometimes, Lambert knew, it became unbearable. Lambert sat halfway up, looking pointedly at the knee then back at Aiden. Frowning, Aiden lifted up so he could straighten out his leg and stretch it with a wince. He pulled it in and straightened it again, then shifted to sit on the bed instead of kneeling. After a moment of rubbing the knee, Aiden looked up at Lambert, shook his head and gave a small smile. Lambert lay back down and resumed his grip on the headboard. 

At least the distraction had cooled Lambert down a bit, and he didn’t feel as if he would embarrass himself the moment Aiden touched him. Aiden, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have slowed down any. Twice more he pushed Lambert right to the edge with his hand and his mouth, until Lambert was nearly sobbing with need. 

Between each round, Aiden reached a grease-slick hand behind himself to start working his ass open. That sight was no help at all in Lambert’s efforts to get ahold of himself. And when Aiden, with his fingers rubbing at his own entrance, leaned forward to take Lambert in his mouth, it was too much.

“Aiden, please” Lambert gasped. He was going to let Aiden down, not be able to give him what he needed. He thrashed frantically against Aiden’s hand holding onto his waist.

Suddenly Aiden was there next to Lambert, shushing him and petting his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. Lambert gulped in breath as Aiden kissed his cheeks, his nose, the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t come. He hadn’t let Aiden down. Lambert swallowed hard and sighed out the panic that had crept up on him.

“I’m fine,” Lambert said. “I’m all right.”

Aiden gave Lambert an assessing look, then nodded. He looked down towards Lambert’s cock, then back up at his face. “Fun to play with,” he signed.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” Lambert moaned.

“Not until I finish,” Aiden signed.

Lambert’s answering laugh shaded into a groan as Aiden threw a leg over to straddle Lambert’s hips. He reached behind himself to slide his grease-slicked hand down the length of Lambert’s cock then rocked back, letting Lambert’s cock slide against the crease of his ass. Gods, Lambert wanted to touch him, dig his fingers into that tight muscle. Instead, Lambert tightened his grip on the headboard to keep himself from doing so. He’d do what Aiden wanted, which he knew from experience would give him just as much pleasure as having his dick sucked.

At last, Aiden lifted up on his knees, steadied Lambert’s cock with his hand, and guided it to his entrance. Lambert held still, breathing shallowly, with his eyes on Aiden’s face. Aiden’s eye was closed, his lips slightly parted as he took Lambert’s cock. Lambert would stay still forever, learn how to quit breathing entirely if it would keep that beatific expression on Aiden’s face. 

Lambert must have made a noise, because Aiden’s eyes snapped open and fixed on Lambert. Aiden licked his lips, and Lambert shivered with the delicious anticipation of Aiden’s next move. This was always his favorite part--Aiden drunk on the pleasure Lambert’s body gave him, and eager for more. 

Aiden kept his grip on Lambert’s cock and shifted, changing the angle until he found what he wanted. The hot grip of Aiden’s body on just the tip of Lambert’s cock had his breath shaking again: it was too much and yet not enough. But enduring that torture was sweet, because Lambert didn’t have to worry he wasn’t giving Aiden what he needed; he could see clearly how much Aiden enjoyed what he was doing.

Aiden moved, fucking himself on only the first few inches of Lambert’s dick. Lambert drank in the sight of Aiden’s flushed face, his remaining eye blown wide and dark, silken curls framing his face, and the powerful muscles of his thighs flexing as he used Lambert’s cock like a toy. Lambert hung on every quiet, breathy sound that escaped Aiden as he chased his pleasure. And Lambert breathed in the scent of their mingled sweat, the heavy tang of sex with notes and pine and woodsmoke, as if he were a drowning man.

“Aiden,” Lambert gasped. “Let me touch you. Please, fucking please!”

Aiden looked down at Lambert and nodded lightly, floating on the high of his pleasure.

Lambert abandoned the headboard to reach up and brace his hands on Aiden’s thighs, putting his thumbs in just the right spot to rub on either side of the tiny hole between Aiden’s legs. Lambert had long ago learned what kind of touch felt good to Aiden. He avoided the scar tissue and pressed firm circles into Aiden’s skin around where he’d been severed. How many nights had he spent following Aiden’s instructions, Aiden’s hand guiding Lambert’s as they both learned what worked best? Lambert had soaked in those lessons as he never had during his days as a witcher trainee. And he welcomed every chance to practice his skills. 

And now came his reward: Aiden squirming on Lambert’s cock as he tried to push forward into Lambert’s touch, face slack and lips parted, letting out long, voiceless whines that meant he was close. Gritting his teeth to keep control, Lambert fucked up shallowly into Aiden, trying to match his previous pace and angle. It took time to build Aiden up to the peak, enough to tax Lambert’s stamina, but Lambert cared not at all. He’d do whatever Aiden asked for however long he wanted--Aiden’s evident pleasure only magnified Lambert’s own. 

With a gasp, Aiden tipped back, bracing his hands on Lambert’s thighs, the better to let Lambert pleasure him. Lambert had never seen a lovelier sight. He went right on giving everything he could until finally, Aiden sucked in a sharp breath. His hips slammed forward, pulling free of Lambert’s cock, and he spilled, his issue dripping thick and hot onto Lambert’s belly. 

Aiden slumped forward, collapsing beside Lambert and half over his chest. Lambert threw his arms around Aiden and held on to keep from shaking apart. Every muscle in his body felt bowstring taut, humming with energy. The smell of Aiden’s come smeared into his skin had his cock throbbing with denied need. But he waited, patiently as he wouldn't for anyone else, for Aiden to drift down from the spiraling high of his climax.

At last, Aiden signed, without picking up his head, “Want to finish?” and appended the sign he used for Lambert sometimes--the first letter of his name repeated in the gliding motion that was the sign for “pet.”

“Yes,” Lambert whispered. “Please?”

Aiden turned away, onto his side, dragging Lambert’s arm with him so Lambert would snug up against his back. Then he reached between his legs to draw Lambert’s leaking cock through and apply a swipe of his grease-slick fingers. Aiden delivered an expectant look over his shoulder, and that was all the invitation Lambert needed. He thrust forward, his slicked cock rutting between Aiden’s thighs, over the smooth expanse there that was still damp with Aiden’s seed. He felt Aiden’s warm hand cup the head of Lambert’s prick as he slid home, so gentle and inviting. 

Lambert pressed his face against Aiden’s neck and held him by the waist as he thrust frantically, chasing a peak that seemed to be soaring on and on after being held back so long. A helpless shout tore out of Lambert as he finally spilled, spattering Aiden’s hand, and his thighs, and surely the linens as well as his hips kept jerking, again and again, until he felt hollow and wrung out, empty of all thought.

Lambert must have drifted to sleep, because he felt Aiden wiping his skin with a damp cloth and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. With a whine, he leaned forward chasing that kiss, but it was gone. No matter. He’d get up any moment and get another.

The cabin was thick with shadows by the time Aiden shook Lambert awake. “Food,” he signed.

“You should’a woken me before,” Lambert grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Gods, who did he think he was, falling asleep like an asshole and leaving all the work to Aiden? Lambert scrambled to his feet, but Aiden pushed him down again by his shoulders and gave him a stern look.

“I take care of you, yes?” Aiden signed.

“Yes,” Lambert signed back. He took Aiden’s hand--the gnarled right one--in his and kissed the palm. The look Aiden gave him in return made Lambert’s breath catch in his throat, and swept his head free of any sarcastic comments about how unsuited witchers were to trite romantic notions.

Aiden bullied Lambert back into his clothes, then claimed custody of Lambert’s hand again to pull him along outside, where the sky was showing off a spectacular display of blues and purples, with scatterings of stars blooming out of the encroaching dark. 

Lambert looked at Aiden looking at the view, the light casting dramatic shadows across his face so that he looked even more like a priceless oil painting than usual.

Aiden noticed him looking and raised an eyebrow: what?

Lambert shook his head. They didn’t need words. They didn’t need anything that wasn’t already here.

Aiden, seemingly in agreement, reached up to cradle Lambert’s head and pull him into a kiss. Fully willing to stay there until the evening cold crept in, Lambert whined when Aiden pulled away and signed, “Deer.” He patted Lambert’s cheek and turned towards the fire pit. 

Lambert sighed, but followed, as he always would. The deer wasn’t small. It would take both of them to do the work as it should be done.


End file.
